


Don't Be Dead

by Fan4always



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Don't Read This, Emotions, Feelings, Ghosts, Plot, Poor Sherlock, Post-His Last Vow, Sad, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Why Did I Write This?, Work In Progress, this is painful
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:35:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fan4always/pseuds/Fan4always
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wakes up and realizes something is different, sad emotions ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I was up last night and wrote all of this, I don't know why. It's just really sad. If you see any mistakes let me now and I'll correct them.

John rolled over in his bed. He didn't want to open his eyes, not yet while he was so comfortable. Laying there could hear the noise of the city and feel the warm light of day enveloping him. Opening an eye he noticed the sunlight streaming in and shining upon the dust motes that dancing through the air. What time was it? He must have slept in quite a bit, for he certainly didn't feel tired, though he hadn’t slept well. He had had a nightmare… of what he couldn’t remember. But he felt good, awake, and well rested. He was surprised to noticed that his leg and shoulder were not pained, despite the fact he hadn’t taken any medication. After noting the time to be past noon he decided he needed to get up and start the day. He was surprised Sherlock hadn’t woken him up yet with a bang of an experiment or his enthusiasm for a new case. He came down the stairs and spotted Sherlock curled up in his own maroon chair. “Morning.” He said as he moved to the kitchen to put the kettle on. Sherlock didn't reply. John could only see the back of his head and mop of curls falling off the armrest where his head lay. He couldn’t see his face, but he guessed he was in one of his moods again.

After starting the tea, he went to the sitting room, to find his laptop. He was going to start the search for available cases that could be stimulating for Sherlock, when he noticed Sherlock was shaking.

He had been sitting there, silently crying. His tear streaked face, was twisted in a look of complete sorrow. His red eyes were ringed with dark bags, he looked like he hadn’t slept and had spent all night in tears. “Sherlock! What’s wrong?” John was unsure what to do, he had never seen Sherlock so unwell. Sherlock seemed to be looking through him, lost in thought. “Sherlock…” John said slightly calmer, kneeling down and wrapping his fingers around Sherlock’s wrist. “What happened?” At John’s touch Sherlock started to sob. John at loss of what to do reached around him with his other arm to give him a hug as best he could with Sherlock being at such an awkward angle. John tried to make calming sounds as he rubbed Sherlock's back soothingly.

“John.” Sherlock croaked, his voice small and hoarse. If John had not been so close to him, he would not have heard.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here.”

Suddenly Sherlock sat up, with a more determined look on his tear stricken face. Sherlock still wouldn't look at him. Maybe he was embarrassed that John had seen him so vulnerable, as he nearly ran to the loo. John shouted after him though, “ Sherlock wait! Please tell what what is going on.” Sherlock’s reply was a slammed door. Soon after John could heard the spray of the shower. It unnerved him though, and he made the decision to make Sherlock talk to him once he was out of the shower. What would have caused him to be so upset? Maybe he should call Mycroft… but he knew, considering the brothers relationship, that could just make it worse. When Sherlock returned he had dressed in fresh clothes and moved to fold himself in his Belstaff. Looking at his face the average person wouldn’t have realized he had been up through the night crying. Sherlock had carefully arranged his face into a mask, to hide both his exhaustion and distress. Now John watched as he sent text and adjusted his scarf. “Sherlock, please talk to me. Where are you going?”

Sherlock looked up. John thought he might answer, but then Sherlock’s phone started to ring. he looked like he loathed to answer it, but eventually after a few rings he did. “I’m fine.” ---  “Yes, I’m sure.” --- “I’m on my way to the morgue.” and with that he closed his phone without a goodbye, he made his way quickly down stairs and out the door.

John followed him. He had to follow him. He did want to stop and ask Mrs. Hudson if she knew what had Sherlock so upset but he didn't think Sherlock would wait for him. Outside the weather was surprisingly warm and many people about enjoying it. Sherlock quickly caught a cab, but didn't scoot over all the way which made it a bit awkward for John to get in. “Barts Hospital on West Smithfield,” Sherlock voiced then they were off. John didn’t say anything. It was obvious Sherlock didn’t want to talk. John hoped once they got to the morgue he would get a better idea what was going on. Did Sherlock have a case he hadn’t told John about? Did this have anything to do with Moriarty’s message? Did Sherlock still have to face repercussions after shooting Magnussen? John hadn’t been at the flat all too much lately, had he missed something? He would sometimes spend a night or two there after a row with Mary, which were more frequent than he cared to admit. Had he let his own problems blind him from what was going on in the life of his best friend? His internally questioning ended as they arrived at Barts. Sherlock tossed some money towards the driver and John had to quickly exit the cab to get out of Sherlock’s way.

John followed a step behind him as they walked through these familiar halls to the morgue. To him it seemed there was more people than usual wondering about, more than one looked at him in interest. John couldn’t help but wonder about them, but soon Molly appear out amongst them. It was clear she had also been crying, her eyes still puffy and lip quivering. She rushed towards them and wrapped Sherlock in a hug. “Oh Sherlock,” she said with a hiccup. “I’m _so_  sorry.”

John watched as Sherlock with a blank face attempted to return the hug placing one hand on Molly’s shoulder. Sherlock cleared his throat and Molly stepped back to look at him with sad eyes. “Um… yes,” Sherlock seemed at loss at what to say.”

“He’s…” Molly gestured to the room. “If you need anything... anything at all, please let me know. I’ll just be out here.” Molly then turned to hide the tears that were soon to fall.

Sherlock looked to the room, his face flickering with emotions, anguish, pain, then resting on fear. John didn't know what to do his mouth had gone dry, he didn't understand. Sherlock opened the door and John felt like he was pulled through along with him. The smelled of death filled his nose, suffocating him. Death seemed to cling every surface, as it hung in the air. It pulled at John as well forwards toward Sherlock and at the same time away from this room, like it was trying to tear him up. John felt terrible. He stayed behind Sherlock as they walked to the table that contained the body. He didn't know why but as he neared the the cold slab his stomach filled with dread. He felt the need to turn around and run from this wretched place, but he couldn’t Sherlock was here. Sherlock needed him, they needed each other. He sucked in a deep breath still not comprehending what he was seeing. What he saw couldn’t be. John saw himself lying there in this room of death. It was himself that was filling the air with the foul odor and sucking the air from the room. He was dead.

He couldn’t take his eyes away. There was a gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be. This couldn’t be happening. He watched as Sherlock picked up his cold hand. The way he held it reminded him of another time, another body. Actually this reminded him of the first body and the woman in pink, he thought of how Sherlock looked at her hand a deduced so much; everything from her occupation to the state of her marriage. He wondered what Sherlock saw now. What he was deducing. He watched Sherlock as he shakingly lifted his hand for closer inspection and gently pressed his lip to his knuckles, giving him a soft kiss. How John wished he could feel those lips now. How he wished he could feel anything but the overwhelming sadness that claimed his heart and stole it away. Sherlock carefully set his hand down and swept his hair on his forehead, whispered “My John,” Before turning and swiftly leaving the room.

John stayed behind, now sitting on the cold floor next to his body, letting the death and darkness take over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on writing more, I guess I will just have to wait and see when the muses hit me again. Anyway thanks for reading :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: mild swears, and sarcastic Sherlock

John understood now. The memories that had escaped him all day now drilled themselves into his skull with no remorse. His recollection gathered itself into the screaming truth of his demise. Flashes of previous day passed before his eyes. It had been like any other day. He had been at the flat with Sherlock, they had been working tirelessly to find out the meaning of Moriarty’s last message.

Sherlock was plucking at his violin thoughtfully, when Lestrade appeared at their door, worry painted on his face. “Why did neither of you answer your phones?”

“Wasn’t in the mood to make _chitchat_ ” replied Sherlock, long fingers still pulling at the vibrating strings.

“Sherlock, where is my phone?” John couldn’t remember misplacing it as he patted down his pockets. He could hear Lestrade muttering something about “chitchat” behind him.

“The fridge.”

He went to the kitchen giving Lestrade a sympathetic look. Where he opened the fridge to find both of their phones sitting next to the almost empty milk. His thoughts flashed to his very pregnant wife as he checked his messages and missed calls. He sighed, thankful none were from Mary. Returning back to the sitting room with both phones, he look uncertainly between the two. Sherlock hadn’t said a word since they returned to the flat. He quickly thumbed through a file Mycroft had given him before tossing it aside and becoming lost in thought strumming his violin.

“Stop worrying, it’s giving me a headache.” said Sherlock finally turning to look at Lestrade.

“Worrying Sherlock? Have you turned on your TV? Do you even know what’s going on? Jim Moriarty-”

“Is dead.”

“Than who the hell, do you think hacked the nation’s airwaves?” asked Lestrade, who was sounding more and more annoyed. “I requested to have his body to be exhumed to re-confirm his identity, as turns out the bastard was cremated. He could have faked his death.” He ended giving Sherlock a pointed look.

“I have no doubt in my mind, he is dead.” replied Sherlock, now standing he moved to carefully put his violin away. “Whoever did this had another motive.”

“Who other than Moriarty would go through the trouble?” asked John.

Sherlock gave John a piercing look, which John returned. After a moment of Sherlock in quiet thought, he replied. “No one else. You’re right, no one else would be adept enough to carry it out.”

“What?” asked John confused at Sherlock’s swift change of thought.

“You said it John, not me. Moriarty!” said Sherlock abruptly reaching for his coat.

“And you just said you were sure he was dead.” said Lestrade exasperated.

“Hmm you’re right. Maybe it was his ghost!” Lestrade gave John a tired look before Sherlock added, “Let’s go John”

John quickly grabbed his coat, ready to follow Sherlock out the door when he heard Lestrade call, “Where do you think you two are going?”

“We have a train to catch. In a bit of a hurry.” Sherlock replied, tapping his wrist and imaginary watch.

John stopped in tracts, “Sherlock seriously where-”

Sherlock leaned over and said “Sussex” with a bit of a grin.

Outside Sherlock had caught a cab and had left Lestrade fuming on their steps. Inside the cab Sherlock was vibrating with his usual excited energy, which always seemed to rub off on himself, and fill him with the same pulsing anticipation. “Why are we going to Sussex?”

“Janine.”

“You’re ex?” exclaimed John even more confused and worrying, not for the first time, for Sherlock’s sanity.

“Yes, she was Moriarty’s sister.”

John’s mouth made a perfect O. For a moment he was at loss at what to say. “You were getting off... with Moriarty's sister?” beginning to laugh. Feeling a little more at ease now that he had a better idea what was happening.

“Well she was in your wedding.” said Sherlock also laughing, “and we didn’t- never mind.”

John was still in disbelief. “So she- oh my god.” The cogs were slowing spinning in his head. How did she-? Why did she-? He didn’t yet understand.

Sherlock however read his questions as he always does and replied, “Working as Magnusson's PA she would have been more than capable of broadcasting her brother’s last message to the entire country.”

“But why?”

Sherlock paused before responding, now there was a question that was worth looking into. “She didn’t want me to go. Probably wanted me indebted to her.” Sherlock then turned to look out the window they had pulled up to the station. He reached into his wallet to pay the cabbie before exiting onto the crowded street.

After purchasing their tickets they made it onto the train without a second to spare. John sat next to the window with Sherlock beside him. Watching the country pass them by it became apparent to John how exhausted Sherlock had become. His eyes continued to flutter closed only to open when his head started to fall. Sherlock had hidden before his absolute dread for leaving. It had only become apparent to John after he saw his relief that he was going to stay. John heard a bit of it in his voice when he said goodbye and felt it in the way he held him close for a hug when he was able to say hello again. John knew he hadn’t been sleeping well the previous nights. His eyes had been so tired before, were finally giving in, even after the new energy found in the case. When Sherlock’s head fell onto John’s shoulder, he let him rest. It felt good to be so close after a day of feeling so far apart.

John woke from his recollection still sitting on the cold, hard floor, he and Sherlock were worlds apart now. He was once again surround by his own decay. He looked down to his translucent skin and felt like sobbing, but no tears came. Why had this happened to him? Why did he have to die? He thought of all the men he had killed. Had they ended up like him too? The poor bastards. As his mind continued to wander in that dark room, he thought of the baby girl he would never hold, and of his wife. Did she know yet, that he had died? Would Mary miss him or be glad he was gone so she wouldn’t have to feel the shame of her lies? He thought she would miss him.

John looked up to where his body lay. Ever so slowly he stood up to look upon his former shell. It felt like a dream or maybe more like a nightmare. Though try as he might he couldn’t will himself to wake up. However many bodies had he look upon before, John had never imagined one day he would see his own. Reaching out his hand he tried to touch the fatal wound on his chest. He felt nauseous when his hand passed right through. He shivered. He couldn’t stay here. If he had to be there any longer he was sure to go insane. Could ghosts go insane? He now realized that's what he was, something like a lost soul. He would always be lost without Sherlock, he felt a pull in his chest, a need to find him and do everything he could to keep him from sharing his fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, I'm sorry that I haven't explained how John died yet, this chapter got away from me a bit. I hope this wasn't to terrible to read, I might try to find someone to read the chapters over before I post them to catch my mistakes.

**Author's Note:**

> It might not be too often, but I'll try to update when I can.


End file.
